


Lightning in a Metal Conductor

by cytheriafalas



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik thinks something is wrong with Charles and he goes to find out what it is. Non-graphic, but still potentially triggering, mentions of child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning in a Metal Conductor

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the "hundreds and thousands" before people call me on it: I know that's not an accurate number, but more accurate counts didn't come out until long, long after WWII.

There was something very wrong with Charles, Erik thought. Not the type of wrong he’d always associated with Charles, the too-analytical, too-intelligent type of wrong. This was the wrong type of wrong.

Whenever Charles was around, Erik felt as though his skin were prickling with electricity. Dangerous, dark electricity waiting for an outlet, needing an outlet. Erik had felt this once or twice before in his life, just before lightning struck a metal conductor.

He was neither short-tempered, nor angry with the children when they misbehaved or when Banshee’s flight from the window was more fall than flight. He didn’t seem more reserved or more animated or anything far out of character for this man Erik had known only a few short weeks. Even so, something was wrong.

Raven, when he asked her, was singularly unhelpful.

“Charles gets like this sometimes. He’ll be okay, just give him a few days.”

“And that’s good enough for you?”

Raven had been tying her shoes to go for a run. She finished the last knot and stood, looking Erik straight in the face. There was an impressive sort of strength in her gaze that nearly made him take a step back, but he held his ground more out of principle than anything.

“Listen to me. Charles knows everything about anyone he wants to, but nobody really knows him. You don’t know him, Erik. You can’t know him and you can’t know this about him. It’s the way he needs it.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Her blue eyes flashed golden for just a moment as her concentration wavered beneath a sudden rush of emotion that was gone too quickly for him to identify. “He’s my brother.”

The children didn’t seem to notice. Raven was more attentive, maybe, corralling the children before they could get themselves in too much trouble. She made a mug of tea just before Charles came downstairs in the morning, her timing so perfect it was as though she was the telepath or at least precognitive. Charles accepted the steaming drink and a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Raven offered no other distraction or comfort as far as Erik could see. She gave him more space than normal, perhaps. She never touched him aside from the single hand once per day. It was so different from their usual interactions, hugs of greeting, kisses on foreheads.

Despite his battle-honed instincts, despite the way his skin crawled with self-preservation every time he felt Charles nearby, he did as Raven suggested. He gave Charles his space, didn’t question him about the ever-darkening circles beneath his eyes or the way he seemed worn around the edges. Frayed and fragile like old velvet.

He obeyed Raven right up until the day Charles didn’t show up in time for breakfast. The girl watched the door as the mug of tea cooled before her. She managed to banter with Hank and Alex as though nothing was wrong, even as she watched for Charles’s arrival, because he would show up to breakfast. He always showed up for breakfast. It was where he gave everyone their day’s itinerary, training schedules. The children finished their food. Erik and Raven hadn’t touched theirs. Erik headed for the stairs to Charles’s tower bedroom before Raven could either stop him or beat him there.

He was out of breath when he finished climbing the stairs to Charles’s bedroom. Erik felt at the door with his mind and found it locked, a massive chest shoved up against it. It was the thought of a moment to twist the tumblers into place and shove the door open, chest skittering against the far wall. He made it through the threshold before a wave of pure fury drew him up short.

He’d never been in Charles’s private rooms before, but unless he was very much mistaken in his impressions of Charles, this wasn’t normal. The entry room had been destroyed. Chairs lay smashed near walls; chests had been opened and their contents flung about the room; expensive silk lay beneath empty, broken bottles of cheap liquor; jewelry easily worth two or three times anything Erik had ever owned in a tangled heap, a single rook on top of it all. One seat, more throne than chair, remained standing alone in the center of the room an ominous empty space all around it as though Charles in his rage didn’t even dare touch it.

The door to Charles’s bedroom flew open, revealing a disheveled Charles. “I told you to _leave me alo—_ ” All of the rage in his voice and body vanished when he realized it was Erik and not Raven standing there. Charles slumped against the door, solid oak rebounding against the wall and sending him stumbling. His path of destruction continued behind him but for the immaculately made bed dominating the far wall. “You’re not Raven.”

“I’m not,” Erik agreed. That feeling of charged metal tingled through his spine again, goosebumps rising on his arms and the back of his neck.

He let the doors close behind him and took a single step toward Charles. The other man recoiled half a dozen steps, bumping into the edge of his bed. He staggered away from it as though the ebony could grab him. Charles finally came to a stop near the window overlooking the grounds, hands tangled in his hair.

“Leave, please.”

Erik shook his head even though Charles wasn’t looking at him. Charles’s hair was lank and greasy, hanging into his eyes. His button-down shirt and dress slacks looked mostly clean, although rumpled with sleep. His eyes were fever-bright and watery when he finally looked up.

“Leave now, Erik.”

He could feel the subtle pressure of suggestion against his subconscious. “I’m not leaving. Not when you’re like this.”

The pressure built into an inexorable wave and Erik felt himself taking steps against his will. He fought back, shoved against the wave, cut away at the base with all his strength. Gradually the pressure faded. His steps stuttered to a halt and his mind cleared.

Erik turned back and found Charles sitting on a chest, taking a swig from a cheap bottle of off-brand vodka. It started to make more sense now. Charles’s stumble hadn’t been because the door bounced. His assumption that Raven had come to him when he should have been able to tell them apart. Erik had been able to resist the compulsion because Charles was drunk. Probably his fourth or fifth day drunk if the empty bottles were any indication.

“Your powers weaken when you’re drunk,” Erik observed dryly, walking back toward Charles. “Considerably so. You may need to be careful who finds that out.”

“’M not drunk,” Charles said, taking another drink. Erik seized the metal band around the throat of the bottle and pulled it away from him, leaving him sputtering. “The alcohol doesn’t—doesn’t work on me the way it does everyone else. Not as strong.”

“Right,” Erik said, sniffing at the vodka and grimacing. He floated it out to the far side of the other room, “because if any other living creature had as much alcohol as you have had, they would be dead. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

That step wasn’t as much of a process as Erik had assumed it would be. The bathroom door was nearby and Charles refused to let Erik within five feet of him. He waited outside while Charles brushed his teeth and showered. When he emerged, damp and in a fresh vest and slacks, the focus had returned to his eyes. He still gave Erik a wide berth as he walked past.

“Erik—”

“You spend a lot of time taking care of everyone else, my friend. What is it that you won’t let even Raven in?”

“Nothing.”

Erik held out a hand, sensing the chessboard and fallen pieces throughout the other room. He’d begun taking for granted that most things he wanted would have something with metal for him to grab. This time was no different. The board and pieces floated toward him, floating a few inches above the ground between he and Charles.

“Let’s play.”

Charles looked like he was about to refuse, but he settled on the floor, slouching back against his wardrobe. Erik leaned against the bedpost and held out his fists, offering the hidden pawns to Charles. Charles tapped Erik’s right hand and he revealed the white pawn, rotating the board slowly to face the right direction. Charles’s mind was clearly elsewhere, however. He was soundly defeated in less than fifteen minutes. When Erik took his king, Charles let his head drop back against the dark wood of the wardrobe. Erik flinched in sympathy at the sound.

“Charles…”

“Erik, don’t. Please just let me be. I’ll be fine.”

Erik made a doubtful noise in his throat. He folded his arms over his knees at looked Charles over one more time. The shower had glued him back together somewhat. He no longer looked as though a stiff breeze could take him apart, but by no means did he look well.

“You’re bleeding rage,” Erik said. “I can feel it and I’m not even a telepath.”

“I’m projecting?” Charles asked. He frowned for a moment and the drumming pain Erik hadn’t even realized he’d been feeling faded. The rage was still there, thrumming against the edge of his consciousness, as were the goosebumps up and down his arms. “Is it better? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Tell me what is hurting you, my friend. Is it Cerebro?”

Charles shook his head. Not Cerebro, at least. Erik wouldn’t haven to threaten Hank with bodily harm. That saved some time, anyway.

“I will not share this.”

“You’ve seen the worst of humanity in my head. Nothing you’ve seen could be any worse than that.”

Charles was silent, head hanging. Erik was content to wait him out and he didn’t have to wait long.

“When I was younger, I had very little control over my powers. My—My stepfather…” Charles stopped to clear his throat and Erik fought down his own anger that anybody could reduce Charles to this. “My stepfather hated me. I never knew why. Even, I think, if my powers were as strong then as they are now, I wouldn’t know why. I don’t think he knew why.”

Erik had never given comfort, never received comfort between his mother’s death and the moment Charles dropped out of nowhere into the sea, but he moved toward Charles anyway. Charles flinched, but allowed Erik to sit beside him.

“My mother may not have been the most attentive mother in the world, but she loved me in her own way. If I wanted for anything, I got it. She allowed Raven to stay even with my stepfather’s objections. He gave her what she wanted and he never hurt her. I would have stopped him if he had, even when I wasn’t strong enough to control people the way I can now. But when Raven came, when my mother let her stay, it got worse.”

“Worse how?”

“I can’t.”

“Show me.”

Charles pulled away, finally looking up at him. “No. You can’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Charles, you’ve given me back memories I no longer knew I had. You took some of the darkness from my mind. Let me do the same for you. My powers are useless here, but yours are not. Show me how to help you.” Erik tapped the side of his head.

Charles reached for his temple. Erik had almost gotten used to the sensation of Charles in his mind. It was the delicate touch of a bird’s wing against his conscious, a surgeon’s precision with a scalpel. When he felt Charles this time, his touch was ragged, powers held only barely in check. Sandpaper against his mind.

_I am sorry_ , Charles whispered in his mind. _I do not mean to hurt you_

“You’re not hurting me.”

The sensation of Charles faded, a higher-grit sandpaper, gentler against his mind.

“Are you certain?”

Erik nodded and the memories bloomed in his mind. Confused fragmented memories, but he understood them well enough. Too well. Belts and ropes and whips. Blood and bruises and sobs.

_“Stop, please, stop.” “I’m sorry!” “I don’t know what I did! I’m sorry!”_

_A bright point in Charles’s mind. Raven, standing in his kitchen. Raven, playing with him outside. Raven, relieving his loneliness — a young boy alone in a large mansion, the servants doing what they could for him, but never enough. Then more darkness. More brutal beatings, hospital trips where the nurses thought Charles was a spectacularly poor horse rider, days lying in bed hardly able to move but for the pain and dizziness. Constant fear, abuse, and anger all buried beneath a carefully cultivated veneer of perfect manners. Maybe, just maybe, if he was perfect, if there was nothing wrong with him, then his stepfather would stop. If he stopped asking his mother for things, if he got what he wanted himself. If he stopped wanting things._

_Months stretching into years of bruises and well-hidden scars. Erik saw the scars as if they were on his own body, one that curved around his chest, the lash-marks along the length of his back. Days when Raven was the only spot of light in his life, and days when he was afraid he wouldn’t be enough and that his stepfather would start on Raven._

_The time his stepfather shoved Charles out the window — higher than the one they had tried to fly Banshee out of, one in this very room that Charles had boarded up the day he inherited the house — and had shattered Charles’s leg. It still ached sometimes. The time his stepfather threw him down the stairs to the library — “Damned boy! Do something useful with your time!” — The time his stepfather tied him to that terrible chair in the other room, kept him without food and only drops of water for three days, ostensibly to teach him a lesson. The time Raven came running into his room, tearful and bleeding._

_“I killed him that day,” Charles’s voice said into his head._

“You didn’t kill him,” Erik said out loud. He knew without being told that Charles hadn’t killed him, not truly. He felt amusement in his head, then acquiescence.

_“No, maybe not. But I could have stopped it.”_

“He made his choices, Charles. He was the same kind of man that killed my family.”

_“He made his choice and I made mine. Even doing nothing is doing something. I killed him.”_

_The horse spooked by a wolf in the woods, pounding hooves, Charles in his bed overlooking the grounds. That wolf still snapping at the horse’s heels, his stepfather too absorbed in whatever he was doing to notice. The moment of shock when Charles realized the horse was headed straight for him and then, in his anger, his determination to do nothing._

With Charles so deeply in his mind, Erik was only vaguely aware of his physical body. He found his arm and then his hand, raising it until his fingertips could touch Charles’s cheek. He expected to feel tears there, but his skin was dry.

Erik came back slowly, fingers and toes, feet and hands. As he found himself again, he wrapped his arms around Charles, pulling him in tight. To his surprise, Charles let him, folded himself against Erik’s chest and rested his head there. Charles was still lost in his own mind, but Erik stroked his hair and let him come back in his own time.

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered at last, moving to pull away.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Erik said, releasing him reluctantly. He kept a hand on Charles’s back, pretending to make sure Charles was steady.

“It was today.” Charles’s voice wavered and he cleared his throat again. “I killed — the accident was today. Part of me hates him, wishes I had killed him before he ever dared touch Raven. The other part of me… I wish I had saved him.”

“Saving him wouldn’t have stopped him.”

“It might have.”

“Do you think every Nazi was wronged by a Jew?” Erik asked. Charles stiffened beneath his hand as though he’d been wrapped in steel. This was a part of Erik’s past that he never mentioned explicitly. It was ‘them’ and it was ‘us’ and ‘my family’ and just once before to a stranger in France it was ‘my people.’

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think, of the hundreds of thousands of my people who were murdered, that not one of them saved a Nazi before all this started? Found help when he was hurt, maybe. Shouted out that a car was coming down the street.”

“Of course not.”

“And that didn’t save them, Charles. They died the same.”

“I’m not broadcasting anymore, am I?” Charles asked.

Erik laughed softly and let him change the subject. “Not that I can feel.” The prickles along his limbs had faded, although they weren’t gone. He didn’t feel the pain and rage echoing his own.

Charles started to stand. He made it nearly all the way and then staggered into Erik, who was rising alongside him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Keeping control of my powers can be draining,” Charles admitted, half-asleep by the time Erik assisted him to his bed.

“I understand, my friend.”

Erik eased him down, pulling the blankets aside with one hand while he held Charles perhaps a bit closer than necessary. Charles went without protest, curling on his side and covering his head with his hands. The sharing of his pain had been cathartic, certainly, but not a cure-all. Erik pulled the blankets up and turned to begin clearing the mess in the other room.

_Erik._

“I’m here.”

_Stay with me._

There was no force of command behind those words, but Erik could no more resist than he could have stopped the submarine the day they met. He moved to the other side of the bed and kicked his shoes off, sliding beneath the covers. Charles turned to him, buried his head against Erik’s chest.

_Thank you. Thank you for staying._ “I might have nightmares.”

“I’ll be here.”

This could be home some day, Erik thought. He could come home to this when Shaw was dead. He would never truly find peace, but here he might find Charles’s point between rage and serenity. He could see himself curling into this bed with Charles at night, listening to the children downstairs. Teaching these children Charles so badly wanted to bring into his home, to help them learn, to show them they are not alone.

_That’s a nice thought,_ Charles whispered in his mind. _I’d like that._

“Someday,” Erik promised. “We will someday.”


End file.
